Bang
by PiperPaigePhoebe01
Summary: Tess Tyler always knew that she'd end up going out with a bang.


**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Author's Note**: Possibly triggering. If suicide is something you have issues with, then please click out. If not, please enjoy (although that's not quite the right word). I'm sorry for the depressing aspects of this, but we were talking about this in Health class today and I wanted to get this off my chest.

Please review and tell me what you think?

**Bang**_  
by PiperPaigePhoebe01  
_

She held the gun in her shaking hands.

Her heart pounded. Her chest ached with the effort; it was almost as if it was a pain just to keep herself breathing, just to feel the quiet thump of her heart as it continued beating, day after relentless day. She closed her eyes and laid against her soft pillows.

Memories flooded her.

_Her mother, staring at her with an expression of happiness as Tess finished the final, high note of her song and bowed to the applause—a feeling of happiness swelling through her body as she realized that she had been perfect, that her mother had no criticism..._

_A few years later, with her mother's eyes flashing with anger, she cowered in the corner. She begged—"Mom, **please**, don't do this, I didn't mean to mess up"—but her mother didn't care. She walked out of the room, flicking on a cell phone..._

_Rejection filled every line of her face as Tess's F in Algebra came back..._

_Anger filled her mother's face as Tess stumbled and accidentally wavered on the end note of a song—she stood up and left, leaving Tess's eyes to fill with tears..._

_A need for release._

Her hands shook. The gun became sweaty under her clammy hands; she wiped her hands on her designer jeans before reaching for the nightstand. A knife—a sharp one, residual blood drying on its handle—touched her bare skin.

She shivered.

She picked it up, watching it glimmer.

(_Wasn't it just like her?_)

She pressed the tip to her arm and ran it down in a perfectly straight line. She felt the blood well, saw it drip, drip, drip beautifully down her alabaster skin and onto her jeans, staining them irrevocably. No matter; it's not as if she'd need them where she was going.

The knife transferred to her other hand. Her arm shook as blood ran out of it, but she wouldn't stop, couldn't stop. Anger—deep, dark, loathing—filled her and she slashed, blood ripping out of her fragile skin and spewing over her jeans.

Red, red, and more red.

Red was beautiful.

That's what her mother always said—red was beautiful. If you wanted to be beautiful, wear red. Be red.

Well...

She was red.

And she was beautiful.

Pain was nothing compared to that. As long as she was still perfect, couldn't she take a little pain? Oh, of course she could.

After all, beauty was pain.

A sob wracked her body—pain. Beauty. _Why_? She was doing it all. She was thin (thanks to two fingers pressed to a specific point in her mouth after every meal), she was beautiful (thanks to the spidery scars that ran along her stomach, thighs, arms, breasts), and she was dramatic. What more could her mother want? What more could she do?

_Be me._

The answer caused a deep shudder to pass through her body. Blood still dripped sluggishly down her arms, but she didn't care.

_It was time._

She picked up the gun, running a manicured finger gently down the glistening metal. She took a firm hold on it—or tried to, as her hands were shaking—and pressed it against her temple. As a finger gently touched the trigger, more memories came to light—and of course they were the most painful.

_She stared across the lake at **them**, talking and laughing together, and knew that she had to do something. That **girl**, that nasty little skank, was not going to take what was rightfully hers. She slipped away, but she had barely gone into the forest before she slid down to the ground._

_Tears ran down her cheeks, and she desperately dug in her pocket for the sharp piece of glass she kept there. She exposed her milky thigh and pressed the freed glass to it, watching blood well up._

_Instant relief..._

Her hand holding the gun shook as she remembered entangling her legs around Shane's waist, pressing him closer, and a few moments later, when he took her for the first time—and she cried out in pain, but thankfully it only lasted three minutes and then it was over, done with—

—and then his band member, Nate, ran hands smoothly down her naked waist, pressing kisses against her neck, making sweet love to her—

Betrayal.

They had betrayed her. Shane was with _her_, saint Mitchie, virgin Mitchie, perfect singer Mitchie, and Nate was with _her_, feminist Caitlyn, bisexual Caitlyn, experimental Caitlyn... two of her worst enemies in the world because they had what she could never get.

_Enough._

It was time.

It took only a quick glance at the blood running down her free arm for her to gather the courage. She pressed the trigger.

_Bam._

Tess Tyler was where she belonged.

(_She always knew that she'd end up going out with a bang._)

-

**Author's Note**: I know this is incredibly sad, but please review with something more than just a "so depressing" or "I liked it." Thank you. I'm interested in what you think of this piece—it's something different, but please review anyway? It would mean so much.


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